


ghost of christmas past

by larkspear



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Other, cell phones are dialogue if you try hard enough, legends of tomorrow for like 1 scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13824522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkspear/pseuds/larkspear
Summary: [ I think you have the wrong number. ] She texts back.That should be the end of it, but just when she's stopped thinking about it, her phone buzzes again.[ laurel ][ If this is a practical joke, it's not very effective. ] She replies, maybe a little bit too quickly.Just when Laurel thinks she's alone, someone makes sure she isn't.





	ghost of christmas past

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of alcoholism and also canon deaths

The first time it happens is on one of those warm night where Laurel can't sleep and instead spends some time gazing out a window and wondering what Sara's doing. She wonders if it's warm wherever Sara is tonight. **  
**

When her phone buzzes, she doesn't think much of it. Probably Thea trying to find someone to appreciate some late-night dirt on Oliver. So she's a little surprised when it's a number she doesn't recognize. And then she reads the message.

[ april 5th, 1996 ]

"Must be a wrong number," She mutters to herself, and doesn't think of it again.

Until about a week later, when she's just on her way out of the courthouse and her phone buzzes. She checks it immediately, just in case it's work, but instead it's the strange number again.

[ look into it ]

Laurel actually slows her pace and pauses to look around. There's something about how cryptic it is that gets under her skin. It doesn't feel like it's meant for her.

[ I think you have the wrong number. ] She texts back.

That should be the end of it, but just when she's stopped thinking about it, her phone buzzes again.

[ laurel ]

[ If this is a practical joke, it's not very effective. ] She replies, maybe a little bit too quickly.

They don't respond, and she considers it done.

 

* * *

 

All Laurel can think about is _Sara_. Every time she closes her eyes, all she can see is Sara laying in that alley. It's only been a few days, but it feels like it only just happened, and yet also like it's been years. Her grief, again, consumes her.

This time, she almost doesn't check her phone when it buzzes. Even if it's just on the arm of the couch, moving that much feels impossible. Somehow she does, because she knows she won't be able to keep it from dad if he starts to worry, and not answering his texts would worry him.

For a moment her mind goes blank when she sees the number she doesn't recognize. It takes looking at the previous messages to remember what happened. Then she reads what they sent.

[ i'm sorry about your sister ]

It's not until she feels the edge of her phone digging into her fingers that she realizes she's holding it with a white-knuckle grip. Laurel knows she should feel confused, but she just feels angry.

[ This isn't funny anymore. ]

She throws the phone into a pillow on the other side of the couch, and that makes her feel a little bit better for a moment. Just about when she's ready to forget, it buzzes again.

[ i know ]

It's not until the next message comes that she realizes she's just been staring at her phone for at least five minutes.

[ but i'm still sorry ]

For a fraction of a heartbeat, before her anger completely dissolves into grief, the condolences make her feel a little bit better.

 

* * *

 

The next time it happens, she's almost not surprised by it. Or so she thinks, until she reads what cryptic nonsense they sent her this time.

[ april 5th, 1996 ]

It's as meaningless as the first time. Laurel sets her phone to the side until it buzzes again a few minutes later.

[ i may have gotten the timing wrong the first time ]

[ Who are you? ] She responds after a long moment of trying to decide how to handle this. Or maybe "decipher" is the right word.

[ i can't tell you ]

The first time was strange. The second time was - she doesn't have a word for it. This time is almost intriguing. So she does the one thing Oliver would actually approve of: she asks for help.

"So, do you think you can trace it?" Laurel asks as Felicity looks over the phone. She quietly hopes that Felicity won't read too many of her previous messages, though given how carefully she can see Felicity scrolling through it, she doesn't have much hope. So instead Laurel quietly hopes Felicity won't say anything.

"I can try a couple things, run the number through a few databases, but no promises." Felicity spins around in her chair and starts plugging away at her computer. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, I don't know... A couple weeks?" Laurel crosses her arms and looks up at the ceiling. She remembers the first time distinctly, but Felicity doesn't need to know that. "I didn't think it was anything, but-"

"But you want to make sure," Felicity finishes, and Laurel just nods. She waits in uneasy silence for a moment until Felicity leans back in her chair carefully.

"That doesn't make any sense," Felicity mumbles, and Laurel uncrosses her arms and takes a couple steps closer. "This number shouldn't exist."

"What? What does that even mean?"

"I mean - the number, it, it doesn't match any existing telephone numbering system in existence." Felicity shakes her head. "You might as well be texting an alien. Or a ghost."

Of all the things it could have been, she didn't expect this. Laurel stammers wordlessly for a second. "Well- I- can you keep looking into it?"

When Felicity gives her a helpless and skeptical look, Laurel realizes she needs a backup plan. She picks up the phone gingerly and stares at it a moment. "I'll see if I can find a way to get some information out of them."

"Good luck," Felicity says. Laurel thinks she'll need it.

A few days later, she checks out that date on a whim. It leasts to a minor detail relevant to a case she's working on that ends up winning it in her favor. Laurel doesn't know what to think.

 

* * *

 

It's quiet for a while, almost like it knows she's trying to sniff out her mysterious contact. So, of course, they text her when she's laying in a hospital bed after her first failed attempt at vigilante justice. Her father's worried pleading, while probably right, still stings. She almost welcomes the text as a distraction.

[ if you're going to do this, you need training ]

Her blood runs cold. [ How do you know all this? ]

[ Wait, let me guess. You can't tell me. ]

[ wish i could ]

If moving didn't hurt, she'd have tossed the phone aside. It figures that her mystery contact wouldn't reveal anything so easily. The razor sharp side of her says she should try another approach, something subtler, like trying to figure out a location through casual conversation.

Just as she's about to type something out, Laurel realizes how empty the room is. And she realizes she's been waiting for Sara come through the door the whole night. Something hurt and lonely takes over her.

[ That wasn't a discouragement. ] She hesitates before sending the next one. Somehow, she knows the stranger will know what she's talking about.

[ Do you think I should do it? ]

[ yes. i do ] 

The answer makes her almost dizzy with surprise. It's against everything that the better part of her and everyone around her thinks, but feels right in her gut.

[ plus i don't think i could stop you even if i wanted to. but get training ]

Laurel can't help but smile a little.

 

* * *

 

All she can do is wait in Oliver's lair while tuning out Felicity's routine chatter to the team as they go to investigate this Jansen. Laurel tries to pretend she's not upset, but knowing that Nyssa is with them just makes her words at the cemetery sting. The anger keeps her from breaking down in front of anyone, at least.

In some ways, she's relieved to get a text.

[ nyssa isn't as bad as she seems ]

There's a part of her that knows she shouldn't trust this stranger, given that they know a lot that they shouldn't. But Laurel can't find it in her to care.

[ Should I even ask how you know Nyssa? ]

[ she's just hurting. like you ]

Laurel wants to be angry, because she thought they were on her side, but she can't pretend it doesn't give her pause. That doesn't mean she can't still text angry.

[ What do you even care? ]

[ just... give her a chance. might be good for both of you ]

So when Nyssa visits her in the gym, sometime later, Laurel actually listens.

 

* * *

 

Her mysterious contact is sporadic. Every once and a while, they send her cryptic little hints that always lead to some detail that cracks a tough case. Laurel knows she should be wary, but it's hard not to trust them.

For a while she wonders if it was Nyssa all along, but she's pretty sure Nyssa would spontaneously combust from typing like that (and they call  _her_  uptight).

Then things get worse. And while she's sitting in her apartment in the middle of the night, her fingers itching to get a glass of anything, she thinks of her mysterious contact and decides to be the one to start this time.

[ A friend of mine is dead. He went somewhere, knowing he was going to die, and he didn't even say goodbye. At least last time he had the decency not to know he would die. ]

[ I can't grieve them both again. ]

Really, she doesn't know why she's sending this. Maybe because she doesn't know who else to talk to. And it's not like she expects an answer.

[ you deserve better than how oliver treats you ]

It's kind of funny, in a lot of ways. Of course they'd respond. And who responds to hearing that someone died like  _this_?

[ but i don't think you texted me because you wanted grief counselling ]

[ (i'm not very good at it, btw) ]

Laurel hates that they're right. It doesn't feel like grief driving her to pick up the phone and reply. Not exactly.

[ I don't know what I want. ] She admits. [ I don't know what to do. ]

[ i think you do ]

Sara's jacket is slung on the back of a chair on the other side of the room. The leather is almost iridescent in the darkness, like a black bird.

[ I guess I do. ]

 

* * *

 

After that, they contact Laurel regularly. It's always little tips to help her out. Or rather, to help the Black Canary out. Where to find whatever criminal she's hunting down, a location that always leads her to someone who needs help, or a careful warning that gets her out of trouble.

With how Oliver acts, she's beginning to think her contact is the only one out here with her. It makes her feel a little less alone.

 

* * *

 

[ 11pm, at the docks. 5 armed guards ]

[ Thanks, Casper. ]

[ casper? ]

[ You shouldn't exist, like a ghost. But you're friendly. So, Casper. ]

[ that might be the weirdest nickname anyone has given me ]

[ Well, you could always tell me your name. ]

[ casper is growing on me ]

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when the ache from fighting goes passed her muscles and passed her bones and into somewhere deeper, when she feels like the silence might choke her, and when she catches herself looking at her glasses for too long, she reaches for her phone.

[ Bad fight. Dad still won't talk to me. ] Part of her knows she could just say this at the meetings, that's what the meetings are for, but sometimes she prefers saying it to Casper. There's no need for context or carefully vague statements. Casper seems to know everything already. [ I almost had a drink. ]

[ but did you? ]

[ No. I have to show my sister I'm still strong. ] There's a painful pause before she continues. [ Even if she's not here. ]

[ she'd be proud of you ]

 

* * *

 

There's a part of her that knows that, whoever Casper really is, they're probably busy. And probably some edgy vigilante or secret assassin or... something, considering how much they know. So Laurel probably shouldn't be texting them when she needs to kill time, or when the room seems just a bit too empty, or when she needs a small distraction. But they always answer.

[ It's always 6 minutes. ]

Laurel starts her stopwatch.

[ i thought i was supposed to be the cryptic one ]

[ You always take at least 6 minutes to reply to anything. Sometimes longer if you have to think about it. But always at least 6 minutes. ]

[ Why is that? ]

Laurel starts her stopwatch again.

[ it's probably a quirk of the technology. it's hard for me to reach you ]

What does  _that_ mean?

[ Cryptic. Alright. ]

[ It almost seems symbolic, don't you think? It's not 5 minutes, that would be reasonable. Just one minute off. ]  

[ Like... you have this weird sense of things before they happen, but you're still always one minute too late. ]

It takes them seven minutes to respond.

[ i guess so ]

 

* * *

 

"Sooo," Thea drawls as she leans on the counter in Laurel's kitchen, "Who're you texting?"

"Huh?" Laurel looks up at Thea. Offering to let her stay had seemed natural at the time, but it hadn't occurred to her that Thea might pick up on her habit to text Casper on occasion. "Oh, just an old friend."

"You sure text them a lot," Thea says, raising an eyebrow. "Someone I know?"

"No, they're from work," Laurel replies with a half-smile. It's not completely a lie.

Thea looks unconvinced. "Mhm."

"Look, I need someone to make dumb legal jokes with," Laurel lies smoothly, tucking her phone in her pocket. "Or would you rather I tell them to you? Here's a good one: yesterday, I was doing an appellate review de novo, and-"

"Okay, okay," Thea interrupts, holding up her hands in surrender. "No more bothering you about your secret lawyer friend. I got it."

Laurel chuckles under her breath, even if she feels a little bit bad. But she doesn't think Thea would understand.

She's not sure anyone would.

 

* * *

 

There are some nights where the silence gets too heavy and she feels like she's going to drown. Nights when Thea's still out or gone to bed early and Laurel's left alone in the quiet of her own apartment. Or nights when they have to slink home to nurse their wounds because the Ghosts are a bit too much, and though none of them will say it they're all thinking  _it'd be easier if Oliver was here_.

On those nights she feels the way she did right before Tommy started to pull away, or when he was gone and Oliver was lying to her about Sara being in town, or the days before she put on the mask or even the days after it. That kind of fragile feeling of knowing deep in her bones that it's only a matter of time until they all run and she's left alone, again.

Because she relies on the team and Thea's like family to her, but Laurel knows how this always ends.

And lately she's seen a wild look in Thea's eyes and she's felt her father closing in on himself and she doesn't understand it, but she _gets_ it.

So it's one of those nights where she pulls out her phone on impulse and sits on her couch in the darkness because she doesn't want the lights on in case they show something about her she won't like.

[ Everyone always leaves, but at least everyone else is really here. ]

[ They're something tangible. Something I can touch. ]

[ At least with the others I can reach out and try to stop them. Or know when they're really gone. ]

[ But you're not even here. ]

There's a part of her that doesn't expect a reply. As if her late night paranoid rambling will drive Casper away like some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it's better that way.

So it's relief when they do answer. Maybe that's all she wanted.

[ i'm never too far away ]

 

* * *

 

Halfway to Nanda Parbat, Laurel has second thoughts. What is she doing? Trusting in some ridiculous League magic to save Sara? Part of her believes when she gets there it will be all be a lie, and she'll have dug up Sara for nothing. That whatever Thea's suffering is actually just another trick of Malcolm's to get even more of them dead.

Laurel pulls out her phone.

[ I'm doing something that I know everyone is going to think is a mistake, and I don't care about that, but... Now I'm beginning to worry it's a mistake. ]

That doesn't feel like enough, but she knows she has six minutes.

[ I guess I'm telling you this because you always seem to know what to say. ]

[ I don't know who else to talk to. ]

Ten minutes pass.

[ trust your instincts ]

It's all she needs to banish the hesitation.

 

* * *

 

Even if there's no _Sara_ in Sara's eyes anymore, that doesn't make Laurel any less compelled to care for her. And even if being down here hurts more than anything else,  Laurel likes to come down into the basement and sit and pretend things are almost normal when Sara finally settles down to sleep.

As much as she wants to, she can't talk to Sara right now. It'd wake her. So Laurel opts for a more reliable conversational partner.

[ All this time, and I've never asked why you do this. What do you get out of helping me? ]

[ damn. you make it sound like i have an ulterior motive. that's cold, laurel ]

[ Well, do you? ]

There's a longer pause, one of those slip-ups that makes it clear that Casper's a little hesitant to open up.

[ you do so much to help people. so you deserve some help in return ]

It takes Laurel aback for a moment. She wonders if Casper would think she was so great if they knew what she'd done. They'd probably look at her the same way Nyssa does, the same way her father does.

Casper's too good of person to be hanging around her, but she doesn't know what she would have done without them.

[ I wish we could meet someday. ] Because Laurel knows, for whatever reason, they never can.

[ me too ]

 

* * *

 

"Time travel," Laurel sighs as the elevator begins to move. Sara shoots her an amused look.

"Hey, you're the one who said I should do it," Sara says, though from the way she slightly shifts her grip on the bag with the new suit, Laurel gets the impression that she's nervous. The last thing Laurel wants to do is spook her.

"And you should," Laurel replies with careful certainty, "It's just so weird to think about. Like, what if you go into the past and past-me sees future-you... or, wait, would I remember that?"

Sara laughs just a little and elbows her gently. "You're overthinking it. Also, I don't want to think about it too hard."

They lapse into silence for a moment, and Laurel looks over at her sister. The idea of letting her go aches more than letting anyone else go ever had. She only just got Sara back. But she knows she'll lose Sara more if she holds on.

"You'll stay in touch, won't you?" Laurel says, trying not to sound too much like she's pleading. "Update us on all the trouble you get into."

The look Sara gives her is almost sad, like there's something inside of her that she's trying not to let overflow.

"Of course," She says softly. The door of the elevator slides open and her smile turns into a smirk. "I'll find a way to text you, all of space and time be damned."

Sara shoots a teasing look over her shoulder as she steps out of the elevator, but Laurel's glued to the spot. It suddenly all hits her all at once and she has to hastily pull herself together before Sara notices anything.

As she steps out, all Laurel can think is  _of course_.

 

* * *

 

Even in the beginning, she'd trusted Casper - though it feels silly to call her contact that now - more than she should have. Maybe there'd been something familiar in the typing style or the kinds of messages, and maybe Laurel had known deep down. Not that she could have figured it out at the time.

Laurel debates whether or not to say something. In the end, she waits six days after Sara leaves to time travel, because six days feel right and just petty enough.

[ Where did you go first? ]

[ Or when, I guess. ]

This time, it takes a whole day to get a response. She'd almost given up on getting one (maybe it'd be breaking some rule of time travel?). When her phone lights up with a new text, Laurel can't help but smile.

[ the 70s ]

[ I hope that included period-appropriate outfits. You should have sent some pictures. ]

[ no way. that's prime blackmail material ]

[ Buzzkill. ]

It feels right. A final puzzle piece clicking into place.

 

* * *

 

Nothing really out of the ordinary is happening - besides everything falling apart and Darhk slipping through their fingers, but that's par for the course -  so Laurel's a little surprised when she receives another text.

[ i'm proud of you ]

Laurel looks around her, half-expecting something terrible to happen, but the base is quiet and humming along normally.

[ Not that I don't appreciate it, but where's this coming from? ]

She counts the minutes in her head, estimates eight.

[ i don't say it enough. so i'm saying it now ]

[ Well, I'm proud of you, too. ]

 

* * *

 

Time feels like it has no meaning with how fuzzy and disconnected she feels. Only the beeping of the hospital monitor grounds her in reality. Laurel knows she should hurt but strangely she doesn't. The nurses tell her she'll be fine, but - well.

Well, Laurel thinks there was another reason as to why Sara texted her through time and space. Another puzzle piece. She doesn't think she'll get to see it.

Oliver will be here soon, and she's been thinking about what to say to him, but there's something else she needs to do. When there's a quiet moment, she has one of the nurses bring her phone to her. Even though her hands feel weak and cold, she types out a message.

[ I love you, Sara. ]

 

* * *

 

Sara leans back in the slightly uncomfortable jumpship seat a moment after Ava hangs up and pulls out her cell phone on reflex. There are some days, more often now, where Sara goes back and reads those messages when she knows she's alone. It doesn't make her miss Laurel less, but it's another little piece of her that Sara can hang onto.

All it'd taken was some help from Gideon and Ray to find a way to text Laurel during that year. Because damnit, if she can't save her sister then the least Sara could do was make sure she was a little bit less alone.

Laurel's last message sits unanswered at the bottom of the conversation. Sara's thought about responding, but the time stamp on Laurel's end reads  _11:52_  and Sara's not sure the message would ever reach her.

It's more than six minutes, but it's cutting it close. And the technology was always a little finicky, so sometimes the messages didn't send at quite the right time. The only way to make sure they would is to go back to the exact time herself, and Sara knows she can't do that. She knows that if she goes back to the day Laurel died, she won't be able to stop herself from saving her sister.

Instead she holds the phone close to her chest and closes her eyes.

"Love you, sis," Sara whispers to the air. She thinks Laurel would understand. Maybe that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me in the comments when you figured it out. i wanna know if i was too obvious, or too vague, or just cryptic enough


End file.
